Butter-like rays are spreading through the trees and over the dark slated roof tops. The sun has peeped over the forest and is foraging through the garden. But it is cold, and I am wearing a black hoodie over my flimsy blue and white striped nightie that in my first week I chased Aine through the garden in. Hard to believe now. This last week has been more like Irish weather, heavy rain, followed by blue sky, long wet grass, dripping trees, and occasional sunshine. In the late afternoon, instead of enjoying the terrace, Jerry and I have taken it turn to sit and read in the one comfy armchair in the verandah with tea and pur beurre biscuits.

Highlights of the week: having my friends Lesley and Paul to stay, eating a croque monsieur in the rain, fighting off Alsation dogs from eating Poppins (the French like their big dogs as well as their lap dogs), buying and cooking big slabs of swordfish (delicious with lashings of butter, lemon and garlic) at the market and knitting a rather raggedy hat in the Queen Kate of Strasbourg (don’t ask) colours which are light green, baby pink and black.

A week last Friday, my friends, Lesley and Paul came to stay for two nights at the start of their holiday, and Lesley taught me to knit. Well, actually, I knew how to knit, but she reminded me and showed me how to read a pattern. I was going to make a baby hat. She brought me all the materials, wool, needles, tape measure, a stitch catcher thing (which I cannot grasp at all) and the pattern. It’s perfect, because as I hate doing nothing (unless I’m asleep), now I can knit. Also, having my hands clicking away means that I have less opportunity to nibble madeleine cakes, crisps, and French chocolate mousses (though I have not stopped altogether). Now, because I am a bit slap dash, sadly, my end product was not brilliant, but a carefully staged photograph impressed my family, and Lesley who had left. However, when I tried to stitch it together, it went completely wrong. The pink stripe met the green stripe, and it seems I grew stitches so it was very uneven. It’s alright, said Lesley, when she saw the final photo, you have it inside out. I didn’t.

Anyway, so now I am trying a new and bigger baby hat for Aine in the Palestinian colours (green, red, black and white). This involved me finding a French wool shop. I cannot tell you how grown up and clever I felt going into a such a place, with knitting needles poking out the back of my baby rucksack. Inside, there were walls of wool, and racks of all sorts of torturous looking instruments. Very smartly dressed women were discussing patterns in corners. When I was approached by an older, very chic, shop owner, I was able to hide my total ignorance by pretending I didn’t have the lingo (well, I didn’t have to pretend) and there I was, apparently (though I’m still not sure) discussing yarn needles sizes, types of wool, and baby hats as if I knew it all.

So, knitting has definitely been a highlight. So was the swordfish, the market in St Jacut, the Croque Monsieur. However, I should also mention our visits to the Intermarches as they are very frequent. We seem to pop into one wherever we are for a bottle of milk, or wine, or some cheese. The one in Lamballe was a hyper intermarche which I got very excited about. We decided to have lunch first, and the brasserie I happened to choose was bang next to the supermarket in the industrial estate just outside the town. It was buzzing, packed full of men at lunch, and families. It served a plat du jour or nothing. When we ordered just the salad from the plat du jour, I knew the waitress would disapprove, and she did. Now that is something I would really like to learn…how to do the utter disdainful French shrug and toss of head.

Anyway, so if you want to know about French Supermarkets…I am your woman. By the way, talking of supermarkets, we went to the strangest Casino in Plancoet (another brand of supermarche, though there is a real fancy, art nouveau Casino in Dinard, but we dare not  go in there). This Casino was actually spooky in there, darkly lit, full of empty shelves, with only one person working in the whole place.

Anyhow, now, the sun is in full beam, splitting the garden trees. It is time to get up and head off to Plage Enogat, near Dinard, to walk the coast line and swim in the sea. A bientot.